June Twenty Third
by starlett2010
Summary: As children, eight members of the Babysitters Club made a pact to be friends forever. As adults, they've gone their separate ways. Will they reunite or continue to let their rift grow?
1. Chapter 1: Kristy

KRISTY

_January first_

_3:31 a.m_

_Just got in from celebrating the New Year. MA and I went to a party at Claud's apt. in NY. Somehow got to talking about graduating after one of Claud's artsy friends told a funny story about his h.s grad. That led to a discussion about m.s grad and the grad letters we had to write to ourselves at good old SMS. Claud was actually the one who remembered about the pact. Can't believe almost forgot about it. MA and I talked about it on the ride home. She still has her letter. Wonder what I did with mine?!? Will look for it in the morning but in the mean time am debating on whether to go through with this thing. Too tired to think about it now._

_3:57_

_Am not fooling myself. Of course will go through with it. BSC was important, after all, and will be fun to see what everyone's up to. _

It was easy to think optimistically about the pact in the wee hours of the morning, but when I groggily awoke the next day, my optimism had been replaced by practicality. As I slowly sat up from my tangled covers, it dawned on me that I didn't actually have a copy of the pact. If I had forgotten, most likely the others had, too. The others were former friends of mine; they had been there through some of the toughest times in my life. I thought for a moment about each of them, trying to picture us back then. I slung myself out of bed and padded to my closet, where I rifled through my keepsake box looking for a particular photo.

There it was, under my high school graduation announcement and my brother Charlie's engagement announcement, the Babysitter's Club forever captured in a glossy 5X7 print. The eight of us stood crowded together in front of the SMS gym, each of us looking directly into the camera with expressions that were much more cheerful than I remembered. Mary Anne Spier, my best friend then and now, was standing between her stepsister Dawn Schafer, who was at one end, and myself. I was wedged between Mary Anne and Claudia Kishi. Stacey McGill was on the other end and crouched in front of us were Abby Stevenson, Jessi Ramsey and Mallory Pike. I looked closely at myself, a short tomboy with a ponytail and my "dressed up" jeans. The expression on my face was one of wistfulness and fear; I had been so afraid to let go, to grow up. I felt a flutter of that same feeling creep into my stomach and I quickly dropped the photo.

I was once again close to closing another stage in my life. I was about to start my final quarter of college and I was scared. It wasn't exactly the same fear; after all, I'd grown up quite a lot since I was that bossy little girl. I'd gotten through high school with decent grades, made new friends and kept some old ones, replaced my dwindling babysitting hobby with volunteering at a local homeless shelter and learned to put my bossiness to use on the debate team. High school came and went and by the time graduation rolled around I had been more than ready to leave home and become an adult. I'd applied to UCLA in California after visiting my brother Charlie there a few times. It wasn't so much that the school impressed me; I'd been in awe of the women's softball team. Those girls were serious athletes, first in their division, and with team spirit to boot. Watching those girls had reminded me of the time I went to a softball sleep-away camp. That had been one of the best experiences of my life and I had hoped to duplicate it if I could only make the team. Turns out, I was accepted to UCLA and made the team. College life was good and I already regretted to see it end.

I picked up the photo of me and the girls who had once been so important in my life and stuck it back in the box. Somehow, looking at that photo had made me feel more secure and yet more anxious. It was ridiculous to think that a reunion would actually happen, let alone that I'd actually get in touch with everyone. Oh, I'd kept in touch with Claudia and Mary Anne. Despite the geographical distance, there was a bond we shared, one that we had made as babies in diapers, before we had words, which kept the three of us friendly throughout the years. But I'd lost touch with the others throughout the years.

Dawn, Mallory and Jessi had been away since the summer the last photo of all of us had been taken. The rest of us had stuck around at Stoneybrook High, but had quickly outgrown each other, replacing our eclectic group with friends more suited to each of our tastes. Since then, everyone had pretty much drifted apart until we wouldn't even say hello to each other at the grocery store.

It was always awkward running into one of them. We'd shift our eyes and casually wander off into other isles, hoping that our parents wouldn't stop to chat. Most of us were away at school, so these types of run-ins only happened when we were at home for term breaks. It was odd seeing someone and knowing so much about them without having spoken to them in years. I felt so many mixed emotions whenever I ran into anyone. I wanted to go up to each one of them and ask a million questions, each one starting with "do you remember when…" and ending with "maybe we could get together sometime?" but I had learned that you can't go back to your past, you just have to keep pushing forward. Still, even after all these years it was hard to deny the friendship we had once shared was something special. That was the real reason we had avoided each other. I think we all wanted to keep our distance. It was just easier that way.

Which is why I shut the lid of my keepsake box and tried to put the pact and the reunion out of my mind.


	2. Chapter 2: Claudia

"Claud. Claudia." I was dreaming about my next painting. It was going to be a painting of the city. I'd been walking through the park and saw it in a whole new way. Everything was light, color and sound. It was New York like I'd never experienced it. The trees were purple and the grass was orange. The sky was a color I didn't even have a name for. All of the sudden, the city seemed to grow less colorful and faded to white. I heard a voice calling my name.

"Uhhhnnn…where are your colors?" I groaned sleepily. A man's laughter reached my waking ears.

"My what?" he asked.

I flopped over and sat up groggily. I opened my eyes.

"Morning, sleepy head." It was my friend Tristan, a guy I had met at NYU. I didn't actually go to NYU but I did like to check out the school's art galleries. Tristan had been handing out fliers for his band at the gallery. I had been so absorbed with one painting that I began chatting with whoever was next to me. Turned out to be Tristan. He laughed and explained that he didn't know anything about art and wasn't even a student. I laughed and confessed I wasn't one, either. We got to talking and even though he wasn't a visual artist, Tristan could make art on the guitar. Plus, he was smart and funny. I ended up going to his show with a few of my friends and we all hit it off. There was Dahlia, the pseudo gothic lit major at Columbia, Kevin, the Sous Chef at a trendy restaurant uptown, Allie, the business major at NYU and Jeff, the EMT. All of us were vastly different but somehow understood each other. Dahlia liked to say that the polarities of our souls were attracted to each other. I'm not sure what that means but we were all great friends.

It was with these friends and a couple of old friends from my hometown that I celebrated the New Year with. I had decided to throw a party when I realized how much I wanted my new friends and my old friends to meet. I had invited my friends from Stoneybrook, Kristy Thomas, Mary Anne Spier and Stacey McGill to attend and they all said they would. Stacey ended up being a noshow, but Mary Anne and Kristy came through.

I had decorated my tiny studio apartment with scarves hung from the ceiling, plugged in some Christmas lights and made a quick "Happy New Yeer!" banner. I realized that "year" was spelled wrong, but my friends know I'm the world's worst speller so I left it up for laughs. I put out some crackers and cheese and made a playlist on line. Tristan was the first to arrive and he thoughtfully brought a bottle of wine; Pinot Grigio, my favorite. Everyone trickled in soon after and by ten my tiny apartment was packed. Good food, good friends and good music. We rang in the new year happily and a little tipsy.

Mary Anne, Kristy and Tristan decided to stay the night. We couldn't sleep and somehow we ended up talking about high school. Tristan lost a bet and had to go naked under his cap and gown but he decided to go all out and flash the audience. We had a good laugh over that one but I couldn't help wondering what he would look like naked. Anyway, somehow Kristy, Mary Anne and I got to talking and I suddenly remembered the pact we made in middle school to have a reunion. Mary Anne knew immediately what I was talking about, but Kristy had forgotten. I couldn't believe it. The Babysitter's Club had been Kristy's whole world back then. Strange that she could have forgotten. Soon, one by one we dozed off into our own private worlds.

When Tristan woke me that morning, I had already forgotten the conversation from the night before. Which is why I was so surprised to find an invitation from Kristy in my mailbox two weeks later.

_~Say Hello to your friends!~_

_You are cordially invited to attend the Babysitter's Club Reunion!_

_When: June 23rd, 2 p.m. to 6 p.m._

_Where: 1210 McLelland Road, Stoneybrook, CT 06899_

_Please R.S.V.P to Kristy at or (310)345-6299_


	3. Chapter 3: Stacey

To: CLKishi

_From: NYCgirl_

_Dear Claud,_

_Sorry I couldn't make it to your New Year's Eve Party. Darien and I got caught up at his friend's bash and then tried to make it to your place but (as you know) the streets were mobbed! We did get into the VIP section at Time's Square (thanks to Darien's dad!) and…guess what! I got to meet Cam Geary! I guess he's a VJ for Vh1 now…anyway, I can't wait to tell Mary Anne! How was the party? I bet it was great; I'm so bummed to have missed everybody!_

_By the way, did you get that invitation from Kristy? What's that all about? Do you think it'll be awkward? Are you going? Let me know soon, k? _

_XOXO!_

_-Stacey_

_P.S. Let's do lunch soon! _

I felt a little guilty about sending that email to Claudia. Most of it was true, but what I left out was that I was embarrassed by Claudia and her weird friends. I didn't want Darien to meet them. It's not that I'm a snob, I just understand social dynamics better than the average person. I always have. I'm not saying that to brag. I just like balance and equations and my friends + Claudia's friends did not total up correctly. As a business major specializing in marketing, I have to understand and relate to my target demographic. My target demographic was Darien and impressing him was crucial.

I'd met Darien Whitmore at, of all places, a dinner for my father's corporation. Newly divorced from my stepmother, former model and fashion photographer Samantha, my father needed a pretty woman on his arm on short notice. That's where I came in. Sam had left over the weekend. Dad and I had gone out to dinner at Tavern on the Green and when we came back she was gone. She left a letter, of course, but what it said I'll never know. Dad didn't seem to upset, so I didn't, either. I stayed with Dad that first week, thinking that he might need my support, but after he became cold and snappy with me I went back to my own apartment.

Which is why I was surprised to get a phone call from him that Friday afternoon.

"Hi, Dad," I answered as frostily as I could.

"Hi Boontsie!" Dad replied. I knew that something was up. Dad only calls me my childhood nickname when he's feeling guilty.

"Okay, what is it?" I demanded.

"What's what? Can't a guy call his daughter to say hello?"

"Considering that you were so rude to me the last time I saw you, no."

"Aw, come on, Boontsie, I was grieving."

"And I suppose you're all better now?"

"Well, I would be if you could do this one little favor for me…" I knew it.

"What kind of favor?"

"I have a very important dinner tonight with some very important clients. I'd like you to come with me as my date. What do you say?"

"I'll need a new dress."

"Done."

"And accessories."

"Of Course."

"And I need to get my hair done…"

"Look Stacey, I don't have time for this. Just use your card. Get whatever you want, okay? Just be there on time, look pretty and hip but professional and smile a lot, okay?"

"Okay Dad."

"Great. See you at 8. I'll text you the details. By honey."

I hung up feeling vaguely sad that a conversation with my father felt more like a business transaction than an actual relationship but pushed that thought out of my mind and hailed a cab.

After spending a few lovely hours at Bloomingdale's, I had the perfect ensemble picked out: A yellow and silver sequin French Connection dress that hit just above my knees, metallic gold Kate Spade high heeled strappy sandals and Mikimoto fresh water pearl earrings. The whole effect was chic, elegant, hip and ladylike all at the same time. I had curled my hair in to loose waves pushed back by a glittery gold Betsy Johnson headband. My makeup was very natural; soft smudgy bronze eyeliner, rosy cheek and pink glossy lips. I grabbed an old pink Jessica McClintock beaded handback and threw in my iPhone, mirror, credit card and gloss and hustled out the door. I reached the front of my building when I realized that I didn't have any cash for the taxi. I was about to turn around when I saw Joseph, my dad's driver, pull up in a black limo. Gleefully, I scampered to the limo, said hello to Joseph and cruised the streets of NYC in style.

When I reached midtown, I hopped out of the limo and scurried up to the restaurant, Per Se, one of the hottest (and most expensive) places in the city. I knew Dad must be entertaining some very important clients to roll out such an extravagant display. I also knew I would be bored, so I was glad I brought my phone along to entertain me. Sure enough, I wasn't required to do much but smile and nod politely. I was grateful that Dad had thought to speak to the chef ahead of time so for once I didn't have to explain my diabetes to a table full of strangers. The food was delicious but I mostly tuned out of the conversation. That is, until I heard the old farts that Dad was sucking up to say that the CEO had arrived with his son.

I looked up from my Angry Birds app and saw a vision: he was gorgeous. Tall, tanned, with deep brown eyes and blond hair bleached by the sun, wearing an expensive suit and carrying a briefcase. Our eyes met and he flashed me a small, secret grin. I was so flustered, I excused myself to the restroom to gain composure. On my way back, I met him in the hall.

"Sneaking off for a smoke, huh?" He smiled.

"Um, well…"

"Ha, me too. I'm only here 'cause my dad made me come."

"Me too."

"I thought so. You don't look old enough to be a trophy wife yet." He flashed me the same grin that made me weak in the knees.

"I'm Darien," he said, extending his right hand out while reaching for a cigarette in his breast pocket.

"Stacey. McGill." I hoped my hand wasn't sweaty. I was usually confident but something about Darien made me feel shy.

"Stacey. Well, I guess I'll see you back at the table with the rest of the old assholes."

"I guess so." I said weakly.

I was much more attentive during the rest of the dinner. Darien didn't return from his smoke break for almost two hours, by then the meeting was wrapping up. I wished he would talk to me but he was polite and distant as the other men. Confused, I went home feeling strangely empty, even though Dad had praised my performance as the perfect daughter. I took the limo home, looking at the lights blur behind my tears, said goodbye to Joseph, hello to Donnie the doorman, and reached my floor. I put the key in the lock, let myself in, kicked off my shoes and fell asleep on the couch.

I woke up to my cell phone buzzing the next morning. Groggily, I glanced at my phone.

_Stacey McGill. Would you do me the honor of having lunch with me this afternoon? –Darien Whitmore. _


	4. Chapter 4: Dawn

Chapter 4: Dawn

You haven't lived until you've watched the sunrise creep up over the beach, filling the day with warmth, love and happiness.

I checked my iPhone. 7:52 am. I had just finished an early morning run along West Cliff Drive and had stopped to admire the sun. I'd been up since :00 due to sheer habit. When we were young, my dad would wake us before it was even light out, yelling, "SURF'S UP, DUDES!" My dad wasn't a hardcore surfer, but he always liked to get a few waves in while he could. I smiled, wondering if my dad still woke Jeff and Gracie like that. Carol, my stepmom, would hate it. She wasn't a morning person. Nor was I, to tell the truth, but I loved getting up early and watching my dad and Jeff ride the waves. As much as I loved the beach, I wasn't much of a surfer. Funny how I ended up in one of the most famous surf spots in the world; Santa Cruz. After high school, I knew I wanted to get away, but I couldn't bear the thought of going back to the East Coast. I hated it there. I hated who my mom had become; living with my rigid stepfather Richard had turned her into a Stepford wife who drank entirely too much. I detested those visits. It was fun seeing my stepsister, Mary Anne, but Richard criticised me to no end. Every mistake, every phase, Richard acted like I was some sort of troubled child. Though I knew I'd miss seeing my mom and Mary Anne, I couldn't leave California. But I had to get away; Dad, Carol, Jeff and Gracie were driving me crazy. Carol had opened up her own business and was always busy making fancy soaps and candles, Dad was putting in far too much overtime and eating (gasp!) fastfood so he was always bloated and grouchy, and Jeff was going through a phase. He'd rarely come home and when he did he was either drunk or hungover. Gracie was a good kid, too cute for her own good, but she was annoying, always asking me to hang out and stealing my clothes. Our housekeeper, Mrs. Bruen, had moved to Florida to retire and our new housekeeper/nanny was a stern latina woman named Mrs. Gonzalez who loved to spoil the hell out of Gracie, treated Jeff like a prince and complained that I did nothing but sulk.

I couldn't wait to go to college.

I was ecstatic when I got my acceptance letter to the University of California, Santa Cruz. It had one of the best environmental programs in the country and was a beach town. But college ended up being a lot different than I had imagined. The people, for one thing. Almost everyone who attended was either a local or from Socal like myself. The locals were downright rude, not bothering to hide their disdain for UCSC other students were great, but I didn't really click with anyone. I tried hanging out with the "trustafarians," the white faux-rastafarian trust fund kids who all wore their hair in dreads, smoked a lot of pot and generally appropriated Jamaican culture as a fashion statement. I tried the philosophical crowd but they were uptight and boring, always drinking coffee and reading Nietzsche. The protesters were too militant and the hippies too flakey. Eventually, I made some friends in each crowd but mainly stuck to myself.

That is, until I met Ryan.

Ryan wasn't a student; he was a local. And he was the most gorgeous man I had ever seen.

I met him on campus my junior year. I had been running along one of the campus's many trails and he had been riding his bike. We nearly colided, both of us just staring at each other, coming closer and closer. At the last second, he skirted off the path and fell into the tall grass.

"Oh my gosh! Are you all right? I'm SO sorry!" I was mortified; I was sweaty, red-faced and had just met the man of my dreams.

"Yeah," he said, shakily getting to his feet, "I'm the one who should be sorry. I should have stopped but..."

"Here," I said, extending a hand. He took it. Our hands felt warm. I helped him right his mountain bike.

"You are...really pretty."

"Thanks. So are you. I mean...handsome."

He laughed.

"I'm Ryan." He extended his free hand.

"Dawn." We shook.

"I know we just met...and we're both kind of...sweaty...but would you like to have coffee?" He asked nervously.

"I'd love to."

Since that day, we've been together. It's been over two years and Ryan is my world; he's my best friend, my lover, my confidant. Which is why, that morning as I walked down town to grab breakfast at New Leaf, I was shocked to see him dining with some girl, some trashy, bleach blonde bimbo, at the Walnut Cafe.

I was confused; what was he doing with her this early in the morning? He told me he'd gone out with friends the previous night but I never imagined...  
When I got back to my downtown apartment, all I could do was cry. And then I called Mary Anne.

"Dawn? Is everything okay?"

"I think so, I hope so, but Oh! Mary Anne, he was with some other girl." I went into detail about what I had saw. Mary Anne listened patiently.

"Try to talk to him. Don't jump to conclusions, you'll just drive yourself crazy."

"I know, you're right."

"Call me when you feel better and let me know what happened."

"Okay, I will."

"Oh, one last thing...did you get anything from Kristy?"

"Krisy? Thomas?" I hadn't spoken to Kristy in years. "I don't think so, why?"

"Well...it's silly but remember how we all made a pact for a reunion?"

"The BSC? Yeah...but Kristy's not actually..."

"Yes, she is. She's putting on a reunion."

"Oh my gosh!" I laughed. Kristy could always brighten my day, even if I hadn't seen her in a very long time. 


End file.
